I want to post, but everything is thick like oil, while at the same time moving so quickly, changing so fast I can't process.

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The days are getting shorter, the only thing I don't like about Fall. But I've found that I get up with the sunrise now, and its fantastic, one of the best times of day. Soon though, I'll be getting up in darkness and I hate that time of year, I'll be begging for Spring, and only enjoying winter if it's rainy and stormy.

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Excerpts from the journal:

Seeing it happen everyday, it has totally become as familiar as a foreign custom.
50 miles.
Seeking frantic search party needed to find the lost words on the tip of my tongue.
Pregnant doldrums.
Pinioned wrists and white pillars.
Exactly what I wanted, but I didn't realize how it would make me feel.
As ugly as Venus in the Half Shell.
Secret language lessons.
Surprised by what the outside world says about what they see looking in.
I've buried everything and I don't think I'll ever dig it up.
Decisions nullified in one week.
I'm pretty sure I love shoes and jeans more then anything.
Changing seasons. I find I wait for the wildfires, and hope for the El Nino.
What do I give up first?
Eventually the monkey organizes itself.
A single paper cut totally killed the buzz I acquired from a freaky streak of intense productivity.
Auburn or Tawny or Nutmeg or Carmel or Copper or Mahogany?

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Pern

I've finally decided to read the Pern series, by Anne McCaffrey. When I first started back in 5th grade, I picked the wrong book, and without the amazingly useful information you can now find on the interwebz about the books, I was completely lost. Apparently there is a recommended order you're supposed to read them in, and it's not necessarily the chronological time-line of what happens on Pern, but more close to the order of publication of each book. I can't imagine my life heavy internet use, when it was something that no one used, isn't that crazy?

Anyway, not to mention the book I picked was a couple years ahead of my reading level. I finally figured out that Dragonflight is what people who are new to Pern are supposed to start with, and I read that around sophomore or freshman year. I never continued on though, since I had no credit/debit card with which to buy the books online from Amazon, and the bookstores in LA almost never carry Pern books.

The writing isn't spectacular, but by no means is it that bad either. The science fiction fantasy, is really what draws me in more then anything. Anne McCaffrey's son is also writing for the series now too. There are some other outside writers too, including Karen Wynn Fonstead's The Atlas of Pern (for those of you who know, she wrote The Atlas of Middle Earth).

Found the suggested reading order here.
This is McCaffery's website.

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margle bargle fargle poop butt meh meh waaa waaa

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I finished reading the first "real" romance novel. Um. Yeah.
Well...I read Flowers from the Storm by Laura Kinsale. Okay my mom says, that Anat says, that this book when it came out was regarded as one of the better romance novels ever written. And as far as I'm concerned the writing is actually not bad. Old english and simple language, I mean one of the characters is a Quaker. It's like 1000 times better then stupid Twilight. In fact I think mostly what's wrong with the book is the plot. It's kinda just all over the place, and really slow at the sametime. Although like Twilight nothing actually happened until page 200, then when it did, yes it was graphic..but actually no more so then the freakin Sookie Stackhouse Books. I mean they were, but they aren't at the same time. I mean no one was biting and sucking blood. I guess I'm kind of desensitized to sex in books and sex on TV becuase of HBO. I like to think people who sign with an HBO show, sign their bodies too. Anyway, the book isn't worth it to read. Although I really liked the characters, and the basis...you just get too lost and bored too often. If I'm going to read a romance novel, I don't want to have to think about what the hell is happening, I just want it to happen.

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Clearly another reason added to the list of many, regarding lack of attachment to LA.
This was just another extension of this...clearly no one is reliable except the people who either have the obligation to be, or I speak to everyday.
I had let go after. realized most people are fakes and flakes. Maybe that's why I don't try, or pretend to because I can't lie. People say 'yeah I'll call, yeah we'll hang out', I never say that unless I freaking mean it. Anyway I had let go but when it led to other problems that are completely unnecessary, and fucked up stuff that was fine before, it freaking pisses me off. If you want me there, invite me yourself, or technically I'm not your friend, I'm an extension, and accessory.

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I’ve thought more about the spiders, and perhaps it all doesn’t mean anything at all. Maybe there was always spider activity from summer through fall, and I just didn’t know about it. And even if it does mean something, maybe it’s nothing more then a cooler summer.

In the morning when the light comes through the curtains of my window, as the sun rises, I imagine I’m in a farm house in the middle of some place flat and void of anything but waiting to be harvested crop. Down stairs I’d make an egg sandwich while chickens walked around my feet in and out of the open kitchen.

I had a very strange dream last night that I can hardly remember. But this entire week I’ve been vividly dreaming. I keep dreaming of Humboldt. I’m not going back there, why? Anyway…I wake up after and my insides feel like they’ve been filled with heavy mud. It’s not even that my joints are stiff from lack of exercise, it’s that even my skin, and my potbelly has been injected with something the weight and consistency of clay.

It’s occurred to me that I have hardly any inclination to ever go to New England, unless someone else came up with the idea first. I guess I’m way to interested in the ‘frontier’. You know like Idaho, I really want to go to Idaho, or even Utah. Clearly this is not for the exploration of culture (not saying there isn’t any in Idaho) but mostly for the landscape. I do however want to go to Georgia not sure why, as well as the Carolinas strictly for pork purposes.

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After reading Callan's blog post about spiders, I now feel like there must be something that spiders of the world know that we don't. You see there are spiders all over our backyard. Everyday when I go to let the dog out, there are at least two newly weaved spider webs that I have to knock down with a stick. It's not that unusual that there are spiders, its just weird because we usually get most of our spider activity in september or october (might be a reason spiders one of the many Halloween symbols). So why the heck are spiders getting so active right now? Maybe I just don't know a lot about spiders. I'm asumming they go for the large outdoor specatuclar webs in october, but keep to themselves most of the year. But why are they doing it now, in July and August? What do they know that we don't? It could be that we are having a cooler summer here in LA, and most scientists think its going to be an El Nino year. I don't know, maybe it's all just coincidence.

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I think I'm going crazy, or maybe I'm just tired? I was walking around the house, in search of food, and I suddenly remembered that storms exist. I can't explain it any other way, then to say I forgot about rain and wind and raging storms. It was weird. Then again earlier today, at work I was sorting by date then time, and the numbers started melting together, like I was uncontrollably crossing my eyes. Sometimes I feel like I'm folding into myself. I spoke earlier about my unfamiliar mirror reflection a few posts ago. It's like my brain is no longer in touch with the body it's in, with the environment it's in. Isn't that some kind of mental condition? When your mind is completely unconnected to reality?

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I'm getting hit hard.
It's depressingly lonely and silent, except for the steady breathing in all places of the house.
Dark and way too hot, I can't escape everyone's contented exhaling.
Dread that has suddenly consumed me.
It's stolen my inhales, rolled a rock on my chest.
I can't help but think there's something going unsaid.
When there is only one person left to hear from, does paranoia from reliance grow like a choking vine?
Maybe it's more grand. It always is.
Maybe it's the tree the vine grows on, crippled and long since spoken too.
Forgetting, or maybe even burying deep within it's rings hope, passion and determination.
Satisfaction, in exchange of risk.

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